


The Greatest

by Eurydia



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Kiss, Fist Fights, Fluff, Mild Language, No spoilers for the main quest, Older Man/Younger Woman, viktor adopts the cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29054214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurydia/pseuds/Eurydia
Summary: When the best ripperdoc in Watson is out for the night, V knows exactly where to find him.
Relationships: Female V/Viktor Vector, V/Viktor Vector
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic about Viktor trying to become a legend again. This doesn't contain any spoilers for the main quest, but describes Viktor's background. At the time of writing, I have not finished the game yet, so I picture this taking place some time in the beginning before his personal quest is completed. 
> 
> The title is from the song, [The Greatest](https://open.spotify.com/track/0OVXLPJPDCFn1IV6bFxY1N?si=lWmZR-sdQ1m-EOeiyB7_Sw), by Cat Power.

Veronica made her way through the maze of gratified alleyways that led to Vik’s clinic. It was a popular hiding spot for stoners, gangs, and in Vik’s words, ne’er-do-wells. Like every other alleyway in the city, it reeked of garbage and alcohol. The only reason she still walked through the place was to see her favorite ripperdoc and his adopted stray, Southpaw.

She reached the steps of the clinic. Peering through the locked gate, she saw that Vik wasn’t in his usual corner watching a pay-per-view match. No half-eaten burger on his desk either. The only sounds she could pick up was the asynchronous clicking of his lucky cats. All the usual residents were there, so there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; Southpaw appeared at the top of the stairs on her way back out. The cat brushed against her legs and waited to be petted.

“Hey, South. Any chance you’ve seen Vik around?” she joked, kneeling down to pet him. She saw something hanging around his neck: a necklace with a brass boxing glove charm. Vik’s. She lifted it off the cat’s neck and held it up to the streetlight. If her hunch was correct, she knew exactly where to find him. 

She pocketed the necklace and drove back to her apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Cover Art]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e10f2acf2f6c265c173e109b709439f3/b4ebf66e546b2b4f-44/s2048x3072/9a558239aa344184363d40567dbdb9ca6cf536a6.png)   
>  [[Art tag for Viktor (and Southpaw)]](https://eurydia.tumblr.com/tagged/viktor-vektor)


	2. Chapter 2

Kiroshi knuckles. 

That was his only thought as he took an uppercut to the jaw. He hoped that the click he heard was the metal plating doing its job, not his temporomandibular joint shifting out of place. 

Back in his prime,—before cybernetics were all the rage,—he prided himself on having an iron chin. It was going to take a hell of a lot more to knock him out. 

“You tired, old man?” 

His opponent was a thirtysomething swarmer with a decent right hook, but sloppy on his feet. Kid's mouth held more trash than a garbage truck and Viktor wasn’t taking the bait.  
He wiped blood from his nose and said, “Shut up and fight, kid,” before resuming his stance.  


He had landed several hooks already, and one of them had caught the kid off guard, sent him reeling back. What Viktor lacked in speed, he made up for in power. He waited for the tell that his opponent was closing in. Once he was in range, he had a small window to get a solid punch in. 

Viktor took a deep breath. Let his muscle memory take over. He shifted his weight and put all his power into a left cross. The kid’s plated jaw collided against his glove with a satisfying clank, sending his body straight to the canvas. He was out like a light.

The referee stepped in. Ten seconds passed. The bell finally rang and the crowd erupted into cheers. He felt his left arm suddenly thrust into the air as the audience chanted his alias. It was only an undercard, an illegal one at that, between a hotshot and an old timer past his prime. But he was the one standing in the middle of the ring, the one the spotlight was shining on. It was his moment and his alone. 

And he loved every second of it. 

After the celebration, he went up to the kid’s corner. His cutman was by his side, trying to stop his nosebleed.

“Make sure you get an adrenaline hydrochloride swab in there,” Viktor explained, more out of habit than anything. “After that, press an enswell on the bridge to stop the bleeding.” Then he went on his way. 

He grabbed his gym bag and wanted to leave without drawing attention, but the way out was lined with spectators. As he walked to the exit, he felt hands—some metal, others not—clapping him on the back. He would’ve stayed to talk to every single person that congratulated him but couldn’t risk getting recognized. So far no one had; the crowd was mostly made up of folks too young to have even heard of him. Everyone he ran into, the drunken ones at least, greeted him like he was some legend.

“Fucking killed it!”  
“What cybernetics you packin’?”  
“Better see you training here tomorrow.”  
“Looks like the ripperdoc’s back in the ring.”

Viktor turned around and saw V, dark-colored lips curved into a smirk. He felt her hand on his arm as she guided them through the crowd. She recognized some of them, even greeted a few by name. Once they got outside, the door closed behind them and it suddenly got quiet. His jaw was throbbing something fierce, and he hadn't looked in a mirror yet, but he figured he had a split lip and black eye to boot. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Viktor muttered.  
“Riiight.”

He felt nervous and flattered all at once, being caught looking the way he did. It was the first time she’s seen him in gear: sweat shorts, no glasses, boxing gloves draped around his neck in place of his stethoscope. 

“So you _have_ missed it,” she replied, helping him down the stairs. He was grateful for it too, because he felt the side effects of his stim coming on. Dizziness, drowsiness, vertigo—and others he couldn’t remember at that moment, as he leaned into V’s arm.  
“Mhmm,” he managed. After he regained some of his bearings, he asked, “What are you doing here? If you don’t mind my asking.”  
“I live here, actually,” she replied. “I could ask you the same thing.”  
“Heh, you caught me. I’ve known about this place for a while now. Figured I’d swing by, since it’s so close to the clinic. Catch some real fights every now and then. Guess that vicarious thrill just wasn’t cuttin’ it for me.”

They were passing by the food court. Hot steam drifted out of a nearby ramen stand and made the whole place smell like seaweed and rice. Across the way was a fine china shop, the trails of incense dancing around it reminding him of Misty’s place. Several different conversations, in both Spanish and English, bounced off his ears, interrupted at intervals by the sizzling of woks and grills. A cloud of noodle-scented steam hit his face and made his stomach growl. 

“What ever happened to getting sleep at night?” she asked. It was appended with a laugh, but he caught the disapproval in her voice.  
“It was nice. But,” Viktor trailed off. He didn’t know how to tell her that he had traded in sleep to try and become a legend again. He felt silly just thinking about it.  
“But? Something else you’re not telling me, Vik?”  
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try,” Viktor said. He tried to stand on his own, but as soon as he let go of V the room started spinning. She caught him in time.  
“You took a beating back there,” she said, opening her apartment door with her free hand. “Dished one out too.”  
“Yeah. Not bad for an old man, huh?”

V laughed and slung his arm across her shoulders. She was a head shorter than most but could hold her own in a fistfight. Easy on the eyes too. The way she carried herself would intimidate most, but there was another side to her, caring and gentle, that she’d only show to someone worthy of her trust. In a city that gives everyone their rough edges, it was nice to see someone who hasn’t lost their softness. 

“Let’s get you patched up, old man.”

Veronica sat Viktor down on her couch, placing his bag on the floor next to him. She let him settle in as she rummaged around her apartment for a first aid kit and something to drink. 

“Thirsty? I’ve got whiskey, scotch, tequila...?” she asked, scrolling through the menu of her vending machine. Best not to show the ripperdoc what she’d been ordering: burritos and booze and even more booze.

“I’ll take a beer—just one this time. Thanks, V.”

She grabbed him a bottle then cracked open a Centzon for herself. After searching a couple of drawers, she finally found an unused first aid kit and brought it over along with their drinks. Viktor already started bandaging up his own hand, having brought his own kit with him. As she got closer, he made room for her to sit beside him.

“Not a boxing expert, but I saw you two hugging it out a couple of times” said Veronica. “Is that against the rules?”  
She saw him struggling to wrap the rest of his hand, on account of his tremor, so she took over for him. He laughed. Either at the observation, her lack of bandaging skills, or both.  
“That 'hugging' you were seeing is called a ‘clinch.’ Most of the time the referee’ll wait for you to break out of it, but if it’s takin’ too long—or the crowd’s gettin’ bored—they’ll step in,” he explained. “Good strategy if you want to throw off your opponent’s rhythm.”  


His face always lit up whenever he talked about boxing. He could go on for hours about the topic and she wouldn’t mind one bit.

Veronica remembered why she came looking for him. She held up his necklace, reaching for his other hand and pouring it into his palm. She closed his fingers over it. 

“I think this belongs to you.”

His skin was rough and calloused, old scars covering his knuckles. He smiled at the necklace, then up at her. Shifting closer, he encircled her head with his broad arms and placed it around her neck. Veronica looked down, rolling the brass glove between her thumb and forefinger before meeting Viktor’s gaze. She felt her cheeks growing hot; luckily she liked keeping her room dark. 

“I can’t wear it in the ring,” he eventually said, a hint of melancholy in his deep voice. “Think you can hold onto it for me?”  
“I’ll keep it safe.”

Veronica took in the moment. Her radio was off and all she could hear was the soft drone of the city from her open window. Neon lights leaked into the dark interior, painting their faces in fluorescent stripes. There was something kind yet disarming in the man’s eyes, unaltered deep browns that turned gold in the halflight. 

They stayed this way for a little while, his eyes flitting between hers.

“Beautiful,” Viktor breathed. Then he looked away and scratched his forehead. “The optic. The Kiroshi optic. Still working like a charm, I hope?” 

Veronica wanted to say something clever, but self-doubt crept in and convinced her that the compliment really _was_ about the optic.

“It is. Working like a dream. I still owe you those eddies—with interest. I haven’t forgotten,” she said. 

Viktor gave a dismissive grunt and handed her some medical tape. She felt out of her depth for the most part, playing ripperdoc to the actual doc, but at no point did he seem annoyed with her. He took a couple of pieces of gauze, soaked them with some solution and handed it to her, one by one, as she dabbed at the cuts on his cheek and forehead. She stopped whenever he winced, thinking she did something wrong and hurt him, but he’d tell her to keep going each time.

“It’s okay,” he assured, laughing softly. “Don’t worry about me.”  
“Can’t blame me for worrying. Got Misty and Jackie worried too.” 

He grew quiet, keeping his eyes on the necklace. She didn’t want to play the guilt card, but it felt like she had no other choice. Viktor was the most level-headed person she knew, and he wouldn’t do something this dangerous and reckless unless someone’s life was on the line. And maybe a life was on the line—his. The old one she thought he had left behind. Given the chance to save her old life, she would do the same. 

“When’s the next fight?” Veronica asked.  
A spark returned to his eyes. “Two days from now.”  
“So soon? Tell me you’re not just doing this for the glory, Vik. There any eddies in this?” 

Viktor made a noncommittal sigh then got up from the couch. He looked unsteady, so she reached for him again. But this time he stood on his own. He smiled, then walked over to the window to look at the skyline.

“Hernandez. He’s pushing forty-five, still boxing. Sure he’s got some cybernetics to be on the same level as the other kids but,” he trailed off. “I thought, why not me? I want to show them what I’m made of. Guess I haven’t put all that behind me, wanting to be a legend in this city.”  
She stood next to him, watching the blur of cars and streetlights below. “You don’t think you’ve made it as a ripperdoc? You’re the best one I know.”  
“That’s kind of you. But in my line of work, no one knows who you are. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love being a ripperdoc. Just won’t hear folks on the street talkin’ about them, unless someone’s dead or about to be,” said Viktor. “Won’t hear crowds chanting their name, or see them on posters or hear about them on television.”

His voice grew quieter by the end, and he sounded tired. She put a hand on his shoulder then headed to bed. She gestured with her chin for him to follow, but he walked the other way, back to the couch. 

“Bed’s this way.”  
“Hmm?” he raised his brow at her, looking lost. Maybe he didn’t hear her the first time—or couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  
“It’s fine, I’ve shared a bed with Jackie before.”  
“Isn’t he with—“  
“No no, not like that. The hotel only had one bed, so we crashed on the same one. I wasn’t gonna let him sleep on the floor,” she laughed at the memory. Jackie couldn’t sleep without hugging something or someone, so it all worked out.  
“What I’m saying is...I don’t mind. Really. We can sleep in the same bed, doesn’t have to mean shit.”

Veronica wanted to say more, to tell him that it _could_ mean something, if that was what he wanted. But that was the kind of forwardness that turned people off in the past. She’d charm her way into someone’s arms and eventually their bed, but it only ever lasted for the night. The sentimental part of her always longed for something more permanent. For someone to stick around for once. 

Viktor thought it over for a bit. He looked between the couch and bed before finally settling on the latter. 

“I appreciate it, V. Mind if I, uh, use your shower?”

“Knock yourself out,” she said, grinning.

By the time Viktor finished taking a shower, V was already asleep. She took the left side of the bed, closest to the wall. He slipped into the right as quietly as he could, trying not to hog the one blanket she had.

He thought he’d knockout as soon as he hit the bed. But after counting all the lights on the ceiling, the lucky cats, and moles on V’s arms and shoulders, he was still wide awake. He felt like a bundle of nerves. It wasn’t like he’d never shared a bed with anyone—but V wasn’t just anyone. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t attracted to her. 

Viktor turned on his side, expecting to see V’s back—not her beautiful face staring right at him. He saw her gaze trained somewhere below his eyes, on his split lip maybe. But it was probably only his imagination. 

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, propping up her elbow and resting her chin in her hand.  
“Heh, guess not,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “Insomnia. One of the side effects of the stim I took.”

Normally he’d be rolling his necklace between his fingers or tapping his wrench to whatever tune was stuck in his head; anything to preoccupy his hands. He decided to interlock his fingers over his stomach.

“Old man, past his prime. Chasing his dream of becoming a legend. Trying to relive his glory days,” he thought aloud. “Be honest. Do you think I’m in over my head?” 

V was silent for a long while. He thought she’d fallen asleep in the middle of his rambling, but she shifted closer to him, close enough for him to see his necklace glinting on her chest. Viktor faced her. He found himself reaching for the charm and turning it over in his fingers. It looked like it belonged on her more than it ever did on him. 

A part of him wanted her to find it. For her to know about the silly little dream he had been chasing. He wouldn’t have blamed her, if she told him he was being naive, that he should let it go and accept he was too old for all this. 

V held his hand and closed it over the charm. 

“You’re never too old to follow your dreams,” she finally said, a soft smile on her face. “We’re training tomorrow. You and me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[Cutman on Wiki]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cutman) Note: Discusses and contains images of various injuries.


	3. Chapter 3

Veronica reeled back when Viktor punched the pad she was holding. He had been throwing alternating punches for about an hour. He didn’t seem tired, just distracted at times. Soon as he caught his mind wandering, he’d smack his gloves together and shake it off.

He got a few more jabs in before walking over to the bench. He waved her over, heaving and sweating up a storm but still managing to crack a smile as she sat down next to him.

“How am I doing?” he asked.  
Putting on her best impression of a stern coach, she said, “You’ve got a good right, but your left’s a little weak. Now drop and give me twenty.”  
“Heh. Don’t be mean now.”  


He rubbed at his left arm, at the holes his stims left behind. He had always been the stoic type; not once had she heard him complain that he was tired during their training, even if she can see it on his face. She was about to call it a day when three thugs came out of nowhere and stood in their way. 

What looked to be their leader spoke up. He had a towel around his neck, but V still recognized the Sixth Street insignia tattooed across his chest.

“Well, shit. If it ain’t Viktor Vektor. Ripperdocing ain’t paying ‘nough for ya?”  
“Watch your fucking mouth,” she warned, shoving a finger in front of his face. “I think you’re forgetting which one of you can break your bones while naming them.”

Sixth laughed right in her face. He got even closer and Veronica stepped up, trying not to let their obvious height difference intimidate her. 

“Who’re you, his ring girl? Don’t look like a Mox. How much he payin’ you to—“  
Viktor got between them before she could get a word—or punch—in.  
“Save your trash talk for the ring, kid. This is between you and me.”  
“Look whose talking! You’re nothin’ but a washed-up—"  
“Didn’t I tell you to watch your—”  
“[Tomato can](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tomato_can_\(sports_idiom\)) and tomorrow night I’ll—"  
“You’re really testin’ my patience, kid.”  
“Alright, break it up!” Coach Fred got up from his bench. It was the first time she’s heard him raise his voice. “You’re in a gym, not a schoolyard.”

Sixth spat on the ground and cracked his knuckles, loud. He looked at Viktor one more time and scoffed before leaving with his posse. Veronica silently wished the door would hit him on his way out.

Viktor apologized to Fred on their behalf. He kept his gaze down, like someone who was expecting to be reprimanded. She followed suit for his sake, despite that nagging feeling in her gut that told her they hadn’t done anything wrong.

To their surprise, the couch gave them both a clap on the back and laughed it off. 

“Do me a favor and whoop his ass tomorrow so he’ll stop causing me trouble,” he said to Viktor.  
"I'll do my best,” he replied, scratching his forehead. After that, he sighed in relief and faced her. She expected him to be pissed, or at the very least annoyed, but he looked disappointed more than anything.

Viktor placed his hands on her shoulders. She realized he was waiting for her to catch her breath too.  
“I appreciate the defense back there, but you know I can hold my own. Right?”  
“I know _you_ can. I was worried about him,” he said, laughing. “I still need that ne’er-do-well in one piece tomorrow.”

They packed up for the day. The gym was one of the better lit parts of the apartment, and she could clearly see the sweat gleaming on his sides and shoulder blades. His tattoo ran further up his arm, coiling on the surface of his broad shoulder in intricate patterns. It looked natural on him, like a second skin. She wondered if he had any more on his body that she couldn’t see. 

“Don’t know what’s up with kids these days and their trash talk,” Viktor began, on their way to her apartment. “Back in my day, we had a little something called sportsmanship. None of that getting under your opponent’s skin crap. You train your ass off, get in that ring and show them what you’re made of. Nowadays it’s only eddies and women they're after.”

“Now that’s the Vik I know,” she said, holding onto his arm out of habit.  
He was smiling now, one eyebrow raised as they descended the stairs together.  
“Pretending you’re old and going on rants about what it was like ‘back in your day.' I like it.”

He gave his trademark laugh. They stood by the apartment door, her hand slipping from his elbow down to his palm. She felt his fingers curl against hers before letting go. She opened the door ahead of him and he followed her in. Afterwards, a comfortable silence fell between them, her neighbor’s conversations fading into the background then disappearing entirely. He asked her if he could use her shower again, with the same endearing shyness as before, and she let him. 

She thought to herself that she could get used to this, having someone to come home with.

Veronica laid on her bed, watching the neon change the color of the wall in front of her. At some point, she looked to Viktor and saw him resting his arm against his forehead, doing the same thing she was but with the ceiling instead. Eventually, he caught her staring and turned to her.

“Tell me something,” she murmured. “What that asshole said back there. Any truth to that?”  
“The part about bein’ a ripperdoc? Nah, don’t worry about it,” he shifted a bit towards her. “As long as you’re still in one piece. That’s all that matters.”  
“How much money is in this fight?” she pressed.  
He waved her away.  
“ _Vik._ ”  
Sighing, he said, “Twenty thousand eddies.”

A thousand eddies shy of what she owed him. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Fuck, I put you in the red? Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Because I knew you’d try to stop me. Figure out some way to get that money fast and get yourself into trouble. Or worse,” he said, sounding frustrated. By the time he spoke again, his tone had softened. “V, if something happened to you because of me. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

None of this would be happening if she just paid him back already. This was on her. 

“If I’d just...not taken those optics from you.”  
“It’s not about that,” he assured. “If I wanted eddies, I would’ve become a fixer. Not a ripperdoc.”  
“So why are you really doing this?”  
“My pride,” he muttered, shifting to lie on his back.  
“Vektor versus Dominguez. Last fight of my career, ages ago. I lost by decision, got second place. Sixth covered his ass and paid off the judges. Couldn’t challenge it, because I didn’t want a target on my back. Walked away from it all and I’ve been sleeping nights since. But,” he fell silent. “I won that fight, V. Everyone who watched that fight knew that. So did those judges. Hell, even the StatBoxer confirmed I landed more punches.”

“That asshole had a Sixth tattoo on his chest,” she remembered. “This is personal.”

Viktor said nothing for a while, turning away from her. She thought he wanted to leave it at that. Her soft spot for him longed to make things right; she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t. She pressed her hand against his back, keeping it steady to give him a chance to pull away. But he didn’t. He let out a soft sigh, his head turning ever so slightly to acknowledge her as she moved to embrace him. He didn’t turn around, but she felt his hand hold onto hers before sleep finally overcame her.

Viktor felt out of his element, having someone like V to snuggle up with. After some deliberation, he decided it was rude to keep his back to her. He slowly turned around, expecting—wanting—her to still be awake. But she’d already fallen asleep. He took that time to commit her face to memory and revise his mental tally of the number of moles she had. He rationalized that he was only checking them for irregular ridges, which he did with all his patients. V was no exception.

He moved so he could lay her head against his chest. He had gotten to that age where his wants had turned to afterthoughts, distant and beyond reach. Still, he thought of them. He wanted to pause that moment with her, rewind and play it back over and over again like a BD. Wanted to take her to that ramen shop they passed by and listen to her talk all night long, about everything and nothing; wanted to run around Watson’s streets holding hands while the neon and stars burned above them. He wanted to live a life where he didn’t have to constantly worry that she’d arrive at his clinic in a bodybag. 

More than anything, he wanted to win the fight. To become someone worth his weight gold, someone worth more than his unaccomplished dreams. He didn’t want to be a no-name ripperdoc from across the street.

He wanted to become one of the greatest boxers in all of Night City. 


	4. Chapter 4

A crowd had already formed at the gym that night. It was loud enough to drown out her thoughts. She wondered how they’d been able to get away with holding the matches, with the apartments being one floor up. Either her neighbors were paid off or the walls were thick as hell. 

Coach Fred was sitting at his usual spot, on a bench a few feet away from the ring. Veronica expected to find him alone as always, but she found Viktor sitting next to him. Coach clapped him on the shoulder before walking him to his corner of the ring. The asshole from Sixth was already at his. She saw him jug down a whole bottle of water—or what looked like water—before crushing it against his forehead and tossing it over the ropes. 

Veronica made her way through the crowd. Once she was ringside, she got Vik’s attention. She thought she could only speak with him through the ropes, but he held out his gloved hand out for her to take. She grabbed it and smiled as he pulled her up with ease. 

She stood on one side of the ropes, him on the other, her small hand in his big gloved one. The spotlight made his eyes blaze with the golden hues of a trophy, and silver pearls of sweat dotted his creased forehead. He smiled at her, mouthguard for teeth, as if he had forgotten he still had them on. In the sea of a hundred people it felt like they were the only ones there, two lost souls that somehow managed to find each other in a city of millions. 

He gave her hand a little squeeze before turning around.

The bell rang. 

Viktor took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pang of pain that shot through his right arm. Nerves made his tremors worse, and the last thing he wanted was for his opponent to know his weak spot. If the kid was smart, he’d aim for his right shoulder. 

But he was gunning for his jaw.

Viktor bobbed and weaved out of a jab. He threw out a left hook, aiming for the kid’s temple, only to find himself caught in a clinch. The kid clamped down on his right arm, hard, and he grimaced. He tried to free his arms but the blows to his side made him winded.

“Shoulda stayed as a ripperdoc,” the kid muttered in his ear. “Gonna need one after this.”  
Viktor freed himself from the clinch. He caught his breath.  
Looking his opponent up and down, he said, “I’m not takin’ new patients but...I’ll make an exception for you.”  
“Fuck you!”

They traded a few more jabs, neither of them showing any signs of stopping. Kid went on the offensive again, forcing him to block his blows as he looked for an opening. His arm acted before his mind did and he swung. He landed one jab after another; on and on until the kid was against the ropes. There was a split second when he thought the barrage had been enough—but it wasn’t. He got a fistful of glove in his face and staggered back. 

The round ended. He made it back to his corner somehow. His lip was busted open and his cheek was throbbing. He slumped down on his stool, V’s fingers on his face as Fred gave her instructions. Their words sounded distant to him. He tried to focus on his necklace around V’s chest. 

“...okay? Vik?”

His training kicked in and he told them what he needed. Fred calmly dictated his observations. As he clung onto every word, a wave of nostalgia hit him. He missed this. He missed the spotlight, the crowds, the celebrations, the thrill of hearing his name on the lips of the crowd. He looked back at the sea of smiling faces, then at V, wanting the moment to last a lifetime.

It wasn’t long before his minute was up. Muscle memory took over. He threw on his mouthguard and rose to his feet, shakily. The room spun; a blur of faces and spotlights and chainlink fences. He thought he would lose consciousness right then and there, or that his knees would buckle, or he’d take one step and fall face first into the canvas— 

He felt V’s hand against his back, holding him upright.  
“Go on,” she said. “Show him what you’re made of.”

So he did. For her.


	5. Chapter 5

“... _the heavyweight lost by knockout to_ —“ 

Vik turned the television off and tightened the screws on his arm in silence. The clinic was dead quiet without it, so quiet that he could hear the steady hum of his neon _Kiroshi Optics_ sign. At some point, Southpaw wandered in, jumping onto the table and curling up beside one of his porcelain lucky cats. 

“I made a fool of myself in front of V,” he said, earning a purr in response. “I was supposed to show her what I was made of. Guess I kinda did, huh? Showed her how much of a loser I was...”

The cat’s ears suddenly perked up. They both looked to the door. 

V was leaning against the doorway. Sunlight hugged her shoulders and spilled into the dark of his clinic, turning every speck of dust it touched to silver. He held her gaze and took in the sight of her. If she were to ask him why he was staring, he would’ve lied and said his eyes were still acclimating to the light and he couldn’t identify her by backlit silhouette alone. But he was a terrible liar—and boxer too, apparently. 

“I’m...sorry you had to see that,” he said, at length. He turned his attention back to his arm, absentmindedly tapping his screwdriver against one of the parts. “And that I, um, didn’t stay. I couldn’t—I didn’t know how to face you. After all that.”  
“Vik,” she walked up to his corner and sat on his desk. “Even legends lose sometimes. Doesn’t mean they stop being legends.”

V took his bruised face in her hands. It hurt to smile, but he did for her. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that, not with pity but with genuine concern, maybe even affection. The way she smiled at him made him feel like a million eddies. 

“You’ve got a brilliant mind and a good heart. No amount of cybernetics can ever replace those,” she murmured.  
“Renting out this shop really was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life,” he said, placing his good hand on top of hers. “Because it led me to you.”

He caught her staring at his mouth. He licked his lips and tasted metal. Before he could wipe it with his hand, V brushed her fingers across it. 

Then she pressed her mouth against his.

He got to his feet without a second thought. For a few breathless seconds he just stood there, stunned, glasses fogged up and V’s lips on his. It didn’t feel real, like he was suddenly thrust into a hyper realistic BD—disembodied yet intimately present. He kicked his stool away, held her body close as he cleared his desk with his free hand. The collective clang of bolts and screwdrivers hitting the floor echoed throughout the clinic. He felt her lips smiling against his as they kissed. 

Viktor was in the middle of kissing V’s neck when he heard a startled hiss out of nowhere. He pulled back, wide eyed, her amused shake of the head telling him that the sound hadn't come from her.  
Southpaw climbed up his back in a hurry, shaking like a branch in a storm. He felt the cat's nails digging into him.  
“Oh—ow. Need to trim those claws of yours," Viktor winced.

He plucked the little critter off his back then let him scurry off. His shoulder was still sore from the night before and felt worse for wear now. He stretched, or tried to, before realizing it was a mistake. V was snickering the whole time.

“C’mon, doc. Let’s get you patched up,” she said, wiping his blood off her smirking lips.

He didn’t get much sleep that night. But he loved every second of it.


End file.
